Disclaimer: All of these characters belong to the wonderful Stephanie Myer. Only my Oc belongs to me. Also the lyrics in the beginning belong to Paramore the song is called Breathe.

So this is a Paul/OC. Let's pretend he never imprinted on Rachel and he eventually joined Jake's pack. This is going to be ten years after breaking dawn.

Warning: Self-abuse and parental abuse will be mentioned. This is not exceptical in any circumstance. Just wanted to get that through.

-True Goddess

Prologue

Raven's POV

I climb, I slip, I fall
Reaching for your hands
But I lay here all alone
Sweating all your blood.

I stare at the roof of my room, tears pouring down my face taking my makeup down with it.

The funeral was the worst thing I've ever experienced in my life.

It was all my fault she was gone. The woman who cared for me, and held me when I cried at night. She was the one who stood up for me when my dad would beat me. She was everything.

Now she was gone.

It replay's in my head every hour, minute, and second of the day.

She was at the top of the stare, holding her swollen stomach, tears falling down her face. I ran out of my room and saw the blood on the floor. She looked back at me and touched my face.

She took a step, and slipped down the stairs.

My eyes widened.

I reached for her outstretched hands but slipped on her blood. We both fell down the stairs. Her head hitting the stairs repeatedly. I rolled of the last stairs and climbed to her body. Just to slip on her blood. I screamed and cried holding her body close to mine.

Even when the paramedics took her away, I was frozen. Just shocked at what had happened.

I opened my eyes and let the silent tear fall. I know it's not my fault, every freaking therapist I go to says the same thing.

But I feel like this is in a way was my fault. I could have done something sooner. Moved her away from the blood, help her get back into bed to mourn for her unborn child.

I picked up my Swiss army knife and sliced it across my wrist. The funny thing was seeing the blood but not feeling the pain.

I criss-crossed the cuts on my wrist closing my eyes, but I wasn't surprised I couldn't feel the pain.

My door slammed open. I hid the knife and pulled down the sleeve.

"Yes."

He looks at me disgusted, and smacks me hard in the face.

"You make me sick!"

He then closes the door and stomps down stairs.

I know my own father hates me.

Most kids might wonder why, not me. I know why he doesn't love me. My dad has golden blonde straight, sky blue eyes, and ivory skin.

I'm the bastard child.

With my copper colored skin, like those at the La Push reserve, thick black curls, and bright green eyes like my mother.

I sometimes think he's racist. It's a possible answer.

I laugh bitterly.

My mom's dead, and I never will now my real father. Life is a funny thing; people say it's a roller coaster. But I think it's an abyss, you just get farther and farther down and there's no way to go up.

The door slammed open again. I braced myself. He smacked me hard in the face again.

"Why isn't dinner ready?!"

He yelled with a trace of alcohol in his breath.

He spit in my face, lifted me up by the shirt and slammed me into the wall.

"I'm not your father, I never was never will be. I didn't knock up that slut the first time. Now where is my dinner?"

I took in a shaky breath.

"I left it in the microwave."

He slammed me into the wall repeatedly then left.

I slid down the wall and hid my face in my hands, and used my curls as a curtain.

The next thing I knew a vase was being thrown at my face.

I screamed and touched my face.

Just above my lip was cut and bleeding.

"You put tomatoes. I'm deadly allergic you're trying to kill me!"

I shook my head vigorously.

"No!"

He laughed and grabbed both of my arms tight.

He punched me in the face. Then the stomach I fell to the floor, he kicked me in the sides and kept punching me.

"That better teach you a lesson bitch!"

He slammed the door closed and left me on the floor bleeding and bruised.

I learned to get used to it. Some nights he would leave me alone, maybe even start a conversation. But when he was drunk, he was the devil. Hitting me, cutting me, trying to touch me. Though I fought him viciously on those nights. It never got better, and it never will.

Please review and tell me what you think.

-True Goddess